come a little closer (here comes the rush, before we touch)
by thegayestarabian
Summary: fluffy smut. smutty fluff. whichever.


She's not sure why they agreed to come in the first place.

Quinn's friend's hosting a party for god-knows-what; Santana's pretty sure she knew what it was at one point but it slipped her mind the moment she saw Brittany in a pantsuit-and-pumps ensemble, lips so glossy she could see her face in them.

(Quinn would've forgotten too, if she had a girlfriend like Britt. Santana would literally bet breadsticks on it.)

Anyway, they're at this party, and Asshole #2 is clearly trying to look down her dress, and Brittany's stuck talking to people her parents went to college with. She spies Asshole #1 (the one she spent a good ten minutes hiding from in the bathroom) getting a drink, and the man with the 5 o'clock shadow and the dark circles under his eyes giving her a leery grin is most likely Asshole #3 coming her way.

She watches Brittany hungrily while they talk to her, but when they turn around and spot her they just turn back around and keep talking, like the fact that Brittany's a girl couldn't possibly make her a threat to them, right?

Wrong. They're so wrong, on so many levels, and she excuses herself and tries to actually make herself walk away instead of bashing all three of their empty fucking skulls together. She makes her way to a shadowy corner next to the fireplace, cradling the glass of champagne in her right hand and checking her phone with her left before putting it back in her clutch. The warmth from the fire licks over her bare legs and heat blooms low in her belly, spreading over her shoulders and cheekbones. The music's smooth and jazzy and it weaves its way in and out of hushed conversation and quiet laughter.

Santana almost swallows her tongue when she feels sure fingers slip over her hips, one hand bunching up the fabric of her dress while the other takes her drink and sets it aside, tracing over the goose bumps on her arm. She feels Brittany's lips hovering a breath away from the nape of her neck as Brittany pulls her deep into her body, locking their hips together and backing them up into the corner. Santana's sure Brittany wants them to disappear into the crevices in the wall, never to be seen again, and she's sure she wouldn't mind at all.

"Dance with me?" she whispers, a sliver of tongue skating over her skin. Santana nods. Nimble fingers spin her around until they're forehead to forehead. Brittany looks at Santana like Santana's a map and she's trying to unravel her, to hold down her frayed edges with stones; Santana feels self-conscious under her scrutiny so she blinks and looks down at their feet and how their shoes glide over the wooden floorboards.

The other couples on the dance floor shuffle around like they're dancing on thin ice; no one takes surer steps than Brittany, who strides along with the music and lets Santana leans on her shoulder, holding them flush together with one hand on the small of her back. This slow waltz's kind of old school (Santana can't stop thinking of the parties her parents used to have for Santana's dad's doctor friends and how they would do this same sort of thing) but they're both having a good time, so.

(Assholes #s 1, 2, and 3 all stand together in their sleek suits, the smarmy smiles they gave her earlier wiped clean off their faces. They look like they've been outsmarted by a toddler, and Santana stifles her laugh into Brittany's neck. Santana thinks she sees Brittany shoot a smug look at them before smiling down wryly at Santana, but she can't be too sure.)

They dance – Brittany leads, Santana follows – until Santana catches Brittany's earlobe between her teeth, and suddenly Brittany growls and drags her to the bathroom, pressing Santana against the door. Santana giggles into Brittany's mouth and Brittany traces Santana's wrist with the pad of her thumb. She pulls her back until she's on the toilet seat and Santana's in her lap, her thighs wrapped around Brittany's waist.

(They can't even keep it in their pants at 'adult' parties, whatever the hell those are; Brittany peels away from her lips and peers up at her, grinning.)

Brittany's face is so flushed that Santana rips off her blazer and lets it fall to the floor. Brittany then slides her fingers under Santana's dress and buries her face into Santana's breasts; Santana tries to unbutton Brittany's shirt but finds that she can't keep her eyes open. Brittany's lips work against her skin and she opens up, slick as the inside of an oyster.

Santana's eyes shutter closed as she loses herself in Brittany; she feels like she's melting into a puddle on the tiled bathroom floor. Her knees shake and she almost topples over, but Brittany squeezes her ass and pulls her even closer. She moves deftly, setting up a rhythm that their supple hips attune to. Brittany pulls Santana closer, till her lips are up against Santana's ear; then.

(One, two, one, two, one – three)

Santana's mouth falls open and she rests her chin on Brittany's shoulder and Brittany whispers in her ear and then she's on the edge, god she loves it when Brittany takes over like this; she traces over her ear with her tongue and Santana shudders, back snapping forward as she ruts against Brittany's fingers.

But then Brittany stops and wraps her arm around Santana's waist, pulling them both to the floor with Santana on top.

Brittany holds Santana up against her face and grins before spreading her open and sliding her tongue through her. Santana shudders and her knees almost give out; Brittany's mouth is warm and wet and Santana's bones turn to jelly. Brittany squeezes Santana's ass so hard that the flesh spills out of the gaps between her fingers and when Santana comes she shifts her hands back down to her thighs and holds her steady while Santana struggles to not put all her weight on Brittany's face.

Relief etches itself into her muscles and she melts to the floor, curling into the crevices of Brittany's body.

Brittany grins at her cheekily as she grabs at Santana's discarded underwear.

"Wanna give those back before we head out?" Santana asks, trying to catch her breath.

"Nope," Brittany says mischievously. Her grin grows wider when Santana's thighs twitch involuntarily. Santana sighs, resigned – she's definitely not getting her underwear back tonight, especially not before they head back home, anyway.

"Panty snatcher," she grouses, pretending to be grumpy. Brittany plants a sloppy kiss on her cheek in response.

Brittany wraps her arms around Santana's waist and Santana traces over Brittany's face with the tip of her finger; the soft eyebrows and softer eyelids, the peach fuzz on the sides of her face, cheekbones, lips, until they're interrupted by a quick _rap-rap-rap_ and the doorknob rattling.

"Santana, I know you're in there. Can you two please stop _fucking_ in my friend's guest bathroom and come back to the party?" Quinn hisses quietly and she sounds pissed but they just can't stop giggling.

"Nope," Brittany whispers again, and Santana bites down on her knuckles to keep herself from laughing out loud. Brittany sits upright and tucks her knees under her chin for a second before standing and pulling Santana up with her. Santana presses her up against the door and drags her tongue up to Brittany's ear, playing with the button on Brittany's pants.

"What about you?"

She feels Brittany's throat shift as she gulps.

"Uh, we should pro-probably get back – oh god – stop th- don't stop San_tana_" and Santana doesn't, Quinn be damned. She slips her fingers in and moves until Brittany bucks against her, biting down on her earlobe as she comes.

* * *

Santana runs her hands down the front of her dress, smoothing the creases and wrinkles in it before pulling it back down to her knees. Brittany shrugs on her blazer and folds Santana's panties and tucks them into the front pocket of it.

"Wait," Santana says, tugging Brittany towards her. She opens her clutch and takes out a tissue, dousing it with water and wiping the red lipstick stains off Brittany's cheeks and collarbones and Brittany chuckles again, shaking her head. They open the door and Quinn falls into the bathroom, eyeing the stains on Brittany's skin and looking flustered.

(Later, Brittany slips an arm around her waist and looks over at one of the men from before, planting a kiss onto Santana's cheek and looking down at her through her lashes.)


End file.
